Milly Taylor Creative

Don’t knock on my door unsure.

Every time I unlatched the locks, I invited a hurricane.
What stormed the threshold ravaged my grain stores
and left me listless in the debris of my own kitchen.
I began to believe that love was a plague,
a swarm of locusts blocking out the sun, making my blood run cold.

I melted into the cracks in the floorboards,
sunk by the weight of being a footnote in someone else’s hunger.

I was bled hollow by the discard—
the casual way we throw one another aside like a rind,
treating a soul like a disposable thing.

Enough.

Give me the wild freedom of the ones who dance with me in love’s true rhythm.
The ones who don’t flinch when I pour.

Do not knock on my door with crumbs.
If you come, come with a heavy dish and a long story.
Sit at my table, share my salt, and speak the names of your ancestors.

Bring your abundance and your jagged blessings.
Bring the grief that tastes like smoke.
I want to sip wine into the dawn hours and look straight through your skin
until I see the wiring of your soul.

Come open or do not come at all.
Do not come to take, come to share….

If you are unsure of your own heart, you are not ready for mine.

You do not get a seat at this banquet.
You do not get to taste the neat whiskey of my life
unless you arrive with your chest cracked open
and your hands full of truth.

~Threshold

You do not trip into the garden of a beautiful life;
you hack it out of the wilderness with your own jagged breath.

A beautiful life is a cauldron of love,
a potion pulsed to life by the fever of the heart,
not the heavy, clicking gears of the brain.

To truly live is to be unmade,
to willingly bleed into the soil
and acknowledge the beautiful, burning sting
of the things worth aching for.

It is surrender.

It is not always easy, but it is always worth it.

Do you hear that?
the wind carries the gentle whispered prayers
of the 80 year-old you may one day become.
They are clawing at the veil of your youth,
shouting through time that will vanish like smoke,
begging you to stop holding your breath.

They see the map you are holding,
the one you should throw to the wind—

Go where your blood runs hot.
Move toward the truth that already sings in your soul.

Do not mistake the mask for your face.

Happiness is not the polished veneer of a life,
it is the depth of the roots you sink into the dark.
It is the fierceness of your care,
the raw, intimate vulnerability of truly loving the day,
of throwing your heart into the teeth of the hours
until you are breathless, exhausted, and full—
instead of hiding, clean and hollowed out,
starving to death in the shadow of a life
that only looks like it matters.

A beautiful life is not watched from the doorway.

It is danced wildly until the soul is fully spent.

Step over the threshold… and run into the beautiful, untamed dark.

It is time.

Your beautiful life awaits. 😍🖤